


The Many Names of the Dragonborn

by Fen_Assan



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Banter, F/M, Family, Family Fluff, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 04:15:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12203694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fen_Assan/pseuds/Fen_Assan
Summary: It would be harder to recall all the names she’d been called than to bring down a dragon. She could hardly remember the times of being simplydaughter, sister- since she was neither any longer, those got pushed over by new names -warrior, stranger, prisoner, bitch; all the way until she found herselfDragonborn, Harbinger, Thane. But the titles nestled closest to her heart werefriend, wife,and most impossibly of all -mother.





	The Many Names of the Dragonborn

**Author's Note:**

> We jump in at the end of the Dragonborn DLC, but the fic is not going to be a retelling of the game so won't focus on game events too much, instead unravelling the tale of this particular Dragonborn, her personality, and her relationships. I hope you enjoy. :)

Eyra staggered, coming to in the darkness of a small domed room. As a grip of familiar gauntleted hands steadied her, she groaned and flicked her left wrist, launching a floating light to aid the stubs of a few flickering candles. While not a mage, she found herself grateful time and again that she had learnt the basics of Restoration School - _Candlelight_ being her only fully functioning Alteration spell. The woman leaned against Inigo for a moment, her eyes roaming over the interior of the room: the unnerving weirdness of the carved totem and the many-eyed statue, the somehow even more terrifying filigree of the dark material forming the intertwined vein-like shapes inside the surrounding arches which defied all attempts to deem them either stone or metal, and the illogically claustrophobic high vaulted ceiling of the room. She looked, turning her head slowly, her vertigo subsiding, until her gaze met the now wide vertical-slit pupils of her loyal companion and dear friend. 

“Woah,” Inigo said, a mix of concern and playfulness in his voice, “don’t fall on me here. I mean if you need to fall, better fall on me.” She half-huffed, half-snorted a small laugh in response. 

“I’ll make sure to take you up on your offer if the situation comes to that.” 

“You alright?” Inigo’s tail twitched nervously as he let her go. 

“Yeah, I think so. Just a bit dizzy. Visiting Apocrypha seems to have that effect on me - or at least the travelling back does.” The only spot of Inigo’s face that was undecorated - right between his scarred nose and the glittering golden circlet on his forehead he insisted on wearing instead of a helmet - contorted in a frown.

“Was it worth it?” he asked as if he already knew the answer, and the answer was “No, of course not, I was utterly crazy to even consider going back there.”

“I think so,” Eyra repeated. “I’ve learned more… things.” The ever-faithful, supportive Inigo grumbled at her vague response. 

“I hope those _things_ will serve you well,” he added. After a moment of silence, he added still, “I was worried. I hate it that I can’t go there with you. But no, I wouldn’t ever want to read one of your Black Books, thanks. No.” His final word had all the weight of an end to a discussion.

“I know, Inigo, sorry,” she patted his arm affectionately. “Let’s get out of here.” 

“I thought you’d never ask.” Eyra could have smiled or poked a comment at her friend’s acute dislike of tombs filled with draugr - she, for some reason, absolutely adored exploring Nordic barrows - but she stopped herself. He was, after all, stepping into his personal kind of nightmare each time she dragged him to another barrow. And he did it for her. She knew to appreciate that. 

Inigo breathed more freely and even started humming almost immediately as they hit the light of day and the fresh air outside Kolbjorn Barrow, but his mood soon soured just as Eyra’s own did at the sight of the miners’ dead bodies. She stood inside Ralis Sedaris’ tent, flipping absent-mindedly through an odd assortment of possessions in his chest - _a doll?_ her heart squeezed, _why would he have a doll?_

“We’re staying here for a bit,” she said finally. 

“What?” Inigo did not even try to hide his shock. “But there’s nothing else to do here,” he spread his arms to point around, and stumbled on his next word. “Unless you want…” His eyes darted away from a body. She nodded. 

“We need to gather the ones outside and either burn them, or drag them inside the tomb.” Ignoring Inigo’s bobbing throat as he managed not to gag, she went on to explain. “The bodies will hold inside the tomb for a while. If the relatives want to reclaim them for the burial.”

“But…”

“We…,” she interrupted with a lifted palm, “I’m going to try and inform the families,” she insisted, staring firmly into Inigo’s catlike yellow eyes, the colour curiously close to that of her own. Hers though, too light and bright to be called amber and thus typically described as gold, had specs of turquoise in them. “From the letters and journals I gathered I can locate at least a few families. I must bring them the news. And try to help them if I can. And ask for their forgiveness.” Inigo slumped his shoulders as his arms hung loose. 

“Eyra, I understand you feel guilty, but it’s not your fault. It was Ralis - or rather Ahzidal acting through his murderous hands - and you’ve killed both of them. These people are avenged.”

“They are, but they deserve more than a bit of dubious justice. Their families need to know, and it needs to be me who tells them. I need this.” 

“Of course. I’m with you.”

Upon agreeing it was fairer to give every deceased miner equal chances, the two started scouting the excavation site and carrying the bodies down into the barrow. Once, a young man’s corpse slipped from Eyra’s fingers, his head landing in the ash with a sickening thud. She bent down quickly to grab him again, breathing heavily, guilt and fury coiling inside of her. 

“Hey,” Inigo said, backing carefully towards the door, his tail lifted for balance. “I know you’re angry about this. But it’s not. Your. Fault.”

“I _am_ angry. I utterly regret there wasn't anyone else there who needed killing,” she spit out.

“Is that,” Inigo asked, inching through the door, twisting the body they were carrying at the legs to fit, “why you went back to Apocrypha then once we found the book?” Eyra thought for a moment, then nodded solemnly in admission. “I understand. In truth, saying you were angry is putting it lightly. You were furious when you realised it was Ralis who’d killed them all… one of the very few times I’ve seen you _that_ angry. Might be a close second in fact.” Eyra caught on to the subtle hint of a whisker twitching. She was not sure where Inigo was going with that, but she took the bait. 

“So? I’m all anticipation. What was me being the angriest you’ve seen?” 

“Oh, the chicken, undoubtedly.” For a second, Eyra had no clue as to what he was referring to, and then the realisation hit her just as they deposited the dead body gently on the floor, another one in a neat line. 

“I’ll be damned to the Wastes of Oblivion, it _was_ infuriating!” she yelled, even stomping her newly made dragonplate boot, raising a cloud of dust and ash. “So unfair and so mean!”

“I know!” Inigo agreed hastily, throwing his hands up in front of himself in a placating gesture. He stepped a few feet away from her before adding, “It was pretty funny though.” Eyra’s mouth shaped a soundless O of horror, then she huffed indignantly. 

“Funny?!”

“Oh come on! It was a giant. A huge, filthy, stinky - and _huge_ \- giant. And it went for a chicken. With his huge, filthy, stinky club. Which was also huge, by the way. It’s almost a miracle he even managed to hit the tiny poultry.” Eyra could not deny the comicality of the situation - still, her heart ached for that poor bird even today.

“It was my first and only chicken! In my first own house! And the bastard just… killed it!”

“Well, he didn’t live to tell the tale. Although the tale of the Dragonborn’s viciousness towards poultry-murderers must have spread one way or another, seeing there haven’t been any more sightings of giants in the manor’s vicinity.”

“They better not get any ideas,” she growled, squinting her eyes in pure hatred. 

“I’m still amazed though,” Inigo said but kept quiet as they were working the last body out from the thin layer of sand and ash. Eyra pushed him away, irritated.

“FUS!” She shouted, and the body’s freed limbs rolled. Eyra gave Inigo a pointed look. He took the hint.

“I mean, there was a cow there. You know, one would think there’s more meat to get from a cow. And giants definitely need a lot of meat to sustain themselves. Why would it go for a small flightless bird? Maybe he just was some peculiar chicken-hater. Oh, wait, what if he was from a chicken-hating clan?!” 

“Inigo,” Eyra stopped on the wooden stairs leading down towards the entrance to the burial mound, forcing her khajiit companion to halt as well - in an awkward position at that. “Shut up”. 

He smirked. 

***

Mireli’s mother was the easiest to track. And easiest to talk to. If “easy” was even applicable there. Eyra’s heart went out to the poor old woman, whose son had got murdered for nothing he did. Simply because he had had the black fortune of accepting work on an excavation site of an ancient Nordic barrow. Poor kid. All he had been trying to do was earn some money to help his family out. At least his mother accepted the heavy coin purse Eyra placed in her hands. She had stashed a few gemstones in it beforehand as well. She knew well enough one could not buy a cure for grief for one’s lost blood. But the family needed the money. And the mother knew it, too, and seemed to be ashamed of it. But not enough to decline. Not with the other four children, all younger than Mireli. 

Eyra and Inigo continued their somber journey around the whole island of Solstheim for days, spreading the news of the loss of their loved ones to local families, trying to do anything at all to help them out. Where money was not wanted or not enough - it was never enough - they cut the wood, found herbs, hunted ash spawn, cleared albino spiders from deep cellars. Sometimes, they and their wish to help and to apologise, were unwelcome. Those cases were few, but weighed heavily on Eyra. An innocent’s life on her conscience was something she had difficulty accepting. 

During one such meeting, a young man, an older brother to a dead miner, met Eyra’s news with ire so unquenchable he drew a long knife on her. She stayed Inigo’s hand darting for his bow with a gesture, and barely whispered, 

“FUS.”

The man staggered slightly, throwing wooden plates and cups off the table, but his fury, fuelled by pain and grief, propelled him towards her again, the knife poised to strike, a shocking cry on his lips. She had half a mind to let him come at her - he probably could not do too much damage through her dragonplate armour anyway - unless he aimed at the gap between the plates. Unless he hit her heart. There was too much depending on her for her to take that risk. There were people - her heart clenched with the ache for her husband, her two adopted children - for whose sake she could not be so selfless - so reckless. 

“GOL HAH!”

She had never used the first two words of the _Bend Will_ shout on people before. In fact, her complete experience with the shout consisted of applying the first word to cleanse the All-Maker Stones, and all three to subject dragons to her will - twice. She instinctively shuddered away from the power of that shout. It seemed like no power anyone should possess. But she had it. And now she had used it on a man. He blinked, confused, looking from the strange woman and the khajiit standing in his kitchen to the knife in his hand. 

“You were going to finish jointing the deer,” Eyra said softly, nodding towards the fresh carcass lying on a nearby table. “We were just leaving.” The man said nothing until the door closed behind them.

“How long do you think it will hold him?” Inigo asked, careful - and visibly unnerved. 

“Don’t know. Don’t want to know. I think I’m ready to leave this island.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Do leave me a note if you have anything at all to say - I appreciate all and any feedback. :)


End file.
